It was the most expensive, scandal ridden coronation in British history.

Two hundred years ago, on 19th July 1821, a select group of 4,656 witnessed what was, without doubt, the most extravagant coronation ceremony of any of these island’s monarchs.

It will come as no surprise that the central figure was King George IV, who was the most spendthrift of our monarchs. His income at the age of 21 in 1783 had been £110,000 a year, far too little for a young man of his tastes and interests. Just his stables were costing £31,000 a year to run. By 1787 his debts were a staggering £161,000, almost £16,000,000 in modern terms. By 1795 the total was £650,000.

Both his father, King George III, and parliament were reluctant to settle the debt, so in an attempt to persuade them, in 1794 Prince George had agreed to marry his cousin, Princess Caroline of Brunswick. This was despite already being married, illegally, to his Catholic mistress, Maria Fitzherbert.

When George and Caroline met it was mutual hate at first sight. George was no slender Adonis, whilst Caroline was well known for her somewhat lax attitude to personal hygiene, leading to what has been described as ‘overwhelming body odour.’ After their introduction George, deeply unimpressed by his wife to be, called to one of his household, the Earl of Malmesbury, ‘Harris, I am not very well. Pray get me a glass of brandy.’

His consumption of brandy continued for the next three days, until at the marriage ceremony on 8th April he was completely intoxicated. According to Caroline, George ‘passed the greater part of his bridal night under the grate, where he fell and where I left him.’ Clearly not the entire night was spent in the fireplace, for nine months later, on 7th January 1796, a daughter, named Charlotte after the reluctant groom’s mother, was born. Three days later George made a new will. In it he left his entire personal estate to Maria Fitzherbert. To his lawful wife he left the sum of one shilling.

Unfortunately for George, whilst he loathed his wife the public loved her for her ‘winning familiarity.’ The press were busy championing her as a wronged wife. George was universally disliked and now felt trapped in an arranged, loveless marriage. Shortly after the birth of Charlotte he wrote to Caroline about a separation, acknowledging that ‘we cannot find happiness in our union.’

When George wrote about a separation the couple were already living apart. In August 1797 Caroline moved to the Old Rectory at Charlton to the south of London. Here, and at her later residence, Montagu House in Blackheath, she entertained indiscriminately and indiscreetly, apparently dancing very indelicately and exposing her body and engaging in flirtatious relationships with a number of gentlemen.

In 1806, a covert operation known as The Delicate Investigation was set up to examine allegations of Caroline’s supposed infidelity and of sending obscene, threatening letters to her neighbours, Sir John and Lady Douglas. It was also alleged that a four year old boy, William Austin, one of eight or nine children adopted by Caroline, was, in fact, her own illegitimate son. The father was supposedly a footman.

The Delicate Commission was unable to find irrefutable proof of Caroline’s infidelity but did reach the conclusion that her behaviour had been improper. Caroline left England for the continent in 1814. Here her lewd behaviour continued to shock and cause offence. At a ball in Geneva she danced naked to the waist and then became the mistress of King Joachim of Naples, brother in law of Napoleon.

In 1811 Prince George became Prince Regent when his father, King George III, became incurably insane and was confined in Windsor Castle, where he remained until his death on 21st January 1820.

The coronation of King George IV was originally set for 1st August 1820 but was postponed. The cause was parliamentary proceedings relating to the conduct of the now Queen Caroline. She was still living overseas where her behaviour had caused concern and embarrassment. Now, on 5th June she returned to England, determined to claim her right to be crowned Queen Consort.

Despite the Queen’s popularity, King George was able to persuade parliament to introduce a Bill of Pains and Penalties in the House of Lords. Its aim was to ‘deprive Her Majesty Caroline Amelia Elizabeth of the title, prerogatives, rights, privileges and exemptions of Queen Consort of this Realm, and to dissolve the marriage between His Majesty and the said Caroline Amelia Elizabeth.’ The reason given for the action was Caroline’s supposed adultery, (no mention being made of the King’s.)

The trial in the House of Lords was expected to be lengthy, hence the postponement of the coronation. In the event the bill received little support and was abandoned in November. The Lord Chamberlain’s Department, responsible with the Earl Marshal for arranging the coronation, simply wrote the Queen out of the ceremonial, as if she didn’t exist.

The King was determined on a coronation that would ‘quite eclipse Napoleon,’ who, in a ceremony of imperial splendour had crowned himself in 1804. To that end a British tailor was sent to Paris, to study the former emperor’s robes (Napoleon died in exile two months before the coronation. When George was told that his greatest enemy was dead he responded, ‘Is she?’, thinking it was his wife.) The result was a heavy 27 foot red velvet, gold embroidered, mantle that was carried by eight sons of peers and the Master of the Robes. After the ceremony it was sold to Madam Tussaud, finally returning to the possession of the crown in the early 20th century. His velvet, plumed hat was surrounded by a diamond diadem costing £8,216, including £800 for the hire of its jewels. (It seems that they were never returned to the jeweller.) The diadem is now worn by Queen Elizabeth II when driving to and from the State Opening of Parliament. In all, the King’s coronation robes cost £24,000. Parliament had granted him £100,000 for the costs of the coronation. As usual he was not going to keep to the agreed budget. The deficit was met from the 100 million Francs war reparations paid by the defeated French under the terms of the 1815 Treaty of Paris.

An essential item for a coronation is a crown, preferably one with jewels. St. Edward’s crown, made for King Charles II in 1661 was, as usual, just an empty frame. The King’s jewellers, Rundell, Bridge and Rundell agreed to hire enough to fill it, but the thousands spent on the hire were in vain. George, like all sovereigns after King William III in 1689 and before King George V in 1911, elected not to bear the nearly six pounds weight of the cumbersome crown. Instead it was carried in procession and placed on the altar.

A new crown for the king was an additional £50,000. It was set with 12,300 hired diamonds. Parliament refused to cover the cost of keeping the stones in the crown, so the King had a gilt bronze cast made instead. The Royal dukes were provided with coronets at a cost of £4,000 each; those for the princesses, being smaller were just £2,000 each. (It might give an idea of the extravagance of this coronation to know that at the next coronation, that of George’s brother, King William IV in 1831, the coronets were £40 the lot, with the whole ceremony costing just £30,000.)

For their day the sums spent on the 1821 coronation were huge. The preparations in Westminster Abbey and Westminster Hall cost £16, 819, jewels and silver plate came in at £111, 810, costumes for the participants in the ceremony were £44, 939 whilst the Coronation Banquet, the last to be held, was £25, 184. Total cost was £238,000, nearly £24,000,000 at today’s prices. A further indicator of the extravagance of the occasion can be gained by comparing the cost to that of the coronation of King George III in 1761; just £70,000.

George had, by tradition, spent the night before his coronation at the Speaker’s House in the Palace of Westminster. On the morning of the ceremony he arrived in Westminster Hall at 10.30 am, half an hour late. The procession to the abbey was along a raised, carpeted walkway 15 feet wide and three feet high, lined with soldiers, from the north door of the hall to the west door of Westminster Abbey. It was led by the King’s Herbwomen, strewing flowers on the ground. Their leader was Miss Fellows, wearing a cream silk dress that had cost 10 guineas. Six others followed, scattering the flowers supplied by the Marylebone nursery of Mr Jenkinson. They were followed by the Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber, Knights of the Order of the Bath, the Gentlemen of the Privy Council, the Heralds in their new tabards, specially made for them by the firm of Baker and Son at a cost of £54 each, Knights of the Garter, the Standard Bearers, the Lord Mayor of London and many other officials, all in fantastic costumes and uniforms. They were described thus in the 1821 edition of the Annual Register; ‘… splendid, and in some instances grotesque dresses … Of the latter description were the dresses of the pursuivants, gentlemen pensioners, the attendants of the lords spiritual, and many others, which were fashioned after the model of the earliest times.’

At the rear of the procession of nearly 700 people was the king, perspiring heavily under the weight of his 27 feet of gold embroidered velvet and cloth of silver suit. It was a warm day, so velvet was not the ideal apparel for a man aged nearly 58 and morbidly obese, with an estimated waist measurement of 50 inches. One can understand why the king kept telling the pages to ‘Hold it wider,’ to allow air to circulate. He was repeatedly mopping his face with a large handkerchief — during the ceremony he used up a total of 17. Afterwards he said, ‘ I would not endure again the sufferings of that day for another kingdom!

The procession took 30 minutes to reach the abbey door. The king was meant to walk under a canopy carried, as was their ancient right since 1189, by the Barons of the Cinque Ports, the mediaeval association of ports, dating from Saxon times but so named since 1100. In return for certain rights and privileges they were to keep ships ready to serve the crown. On his return, the elderly Barons were obviously feeling the heat and were tired; the canopy began to sway. ‘The King feeling nervous that it would descend on his head, thought it safer to walk slightly in front of it. This however, did not suit the stout hearts, though weak bodies, of the Barons, whose privilege and duty it was to bear the canopy exactly over the king, so they hastened their steps, the canopy swaying more and more with the increased pace. The King now became genuinely alarmed, and though of portly habits quickened his pace, and, as the canopy surged after him, as last broke into a somewhat unseemly jog trot, and in this manner they all arrived at Westminster Hall.’

Henry Rivington Hall wrote to his sister, describing what he saw. ‘I discovered the King from his height which exceeded that of anyone near him by about four inches. He wore a hat like Lord Londonderry except with more diamonds and the feathers not so high, and he had long ringlets hanging down the back of his neck. More of his dress I cannot describe as my eyes and those of my companions were riveted to the face of our august monarch. He had no colour but his complexion was clear and healthy and seemed to cast reproach upon the Queen’s painted cheeks, showing that he disdained to have recourse to such expedients. He walked firm and majestically and his countenance was the picture of happiness and good humour, bowing on all sides in return for the enthusiastic almost stunning shouts of applause which rent the air from all quarters.’

What of the queen, mentioned by Rivington Hall? Her Majesty’s chamberlain, Lord Hood, wrote to the Earl Marshal on 16th July, stating that she would be attending the coronation and asking that suitable arrangements be made to conduct her to her seat. The Deputy Earl Marshal, Lord Howard of Effingham, wrote back ‘that it was not his majesty’s pleasure to comply with the application.’ Although her solicitors advised against it, her carriage arrived at the abbey at 6 am, to applause from some of the crowd of onlookers. On the arm of Lord Hood she walked to the door, to the ‘anxious agitation’ of those manning it. They closed the door in her face. She was then asked to produce her ticket. To this she responded that she was the queen and therefore did not need one. She was refused entry. They tried to get in at another door. This too was slammed in their faces. Another door was guarded by soldiers. Giving up they walked to the House of Lords, where admittance was also denied them.

Twenty minutes later they tried to enter the abbey again. This time Lord Hood demanded of the doorkeeper, ‘I present to you your queen, do you refuse her admission?’ The doorkeeper was one of a gang of professional prize fighters who had been hired with just this possibility in mind. They would have been more than capable of holding their own if a fight had developed. The doorkeeper said that he had orders to admit no one without a ticket. Lord Hood finally produced his, but was told that this admitted one, not two people. Caroline, unwilling to enter alone and be seated with the congregation finally gave up and left, to cries of ‘shame, shame,’ from her supporters. It was her final humiliation; she died two weeks later aged just 53.

This was probably the first coronation where the media was considered important. Journalists were allocated seats that gave them ‘an excellent view of all the ceremonies.’ For others who wanted to see the spectacle, tickets were, as usual, on sale, even inside the abbey. Prices started at just two guineas, at the west end and increased to 10, 15 and 20 the closer they were to the site of the actual crowning. Except that the king was so unpopular that the tickets weren’t selling and the stands and boxes were likely to present a somewhat well spaced appearance. It was therefore proposed that the price should be reduced to six guineas or even given away gratis, so that there should be no empty seats.

The long and tiring ceremony finally over, the newly crowned king returned to Westminster Hall at about half past three and retired to rest until the Coronation Banquet was due to start at 6 pm. A Coronation Banquet was first recorded for Richard I in 1194. At it the King’s Hereditary Champion, the head of the Dymoke family since 1377, rode into Westminster Hall, threw down his gauntlet and issued a challenge anyone who refused to accept the king’s right to rule.

A total of 1,268 diners were seated at 47 tables, whilst 2,934 spectators watched from the specially built galleries. The finery of those attending was spoilt by drops of wax falling on them from the 2,000 candles held in 26 chandeliers. Twenty three temporary kitchens had rustled up 160 tureens each of soup, roast meats and fish dishes and 480 boats of gravy. The occasion also called for 3,271 cold dishes to include seafood, jellies, ham and meat pasties. On the royal table was a great display of gold plate and a fabulous ‘dessert representing Parnassus with abundance of figures of Muses, Arts, etc, designed by Lord Talbot.’ A wonderful sight no doubt, but so tall that it blocked the sight that many wanted to see; the king tucking into his coronation banquet.

The ceremony required the Lord Steward and the Lord High Constable to ride together into the hall, dismount and uncover the first dish themselves. This presented no difficulty for the Lord High Constable, the Duke of Wellington. However, his illustrious companion, like the duke a veteran of Waterloo, had a problem.

Henry Paget, Earl of Uxbridge and 1st Marquess of Anglesey had been on horseback beside the duke at Waterloo in 1815. A cannon rang out, the marquess looked down and said to the duke, ‘By God sir, I’ve lost my leg.’ The famously unemotional duke (he once ate a rotten egg without comment,) merely looked down and muttered, ’By God sir, so you have,’ then carried on directing the battle. Paget was eventually fitted with an articulated artificial wooden leg which earned him the nickname Old Timbertoe.

For the banquet Anglesey was wearing a leg designed for riding not walking. Dismounting to carry out his traditional duty was thus somewhat difficult and only achieved with the assistance of several pages, in front of an unsympathetic crowd. One can imagine his temper and humiliation.

Eventually The King’s Champion arrived to deliver his traditional challenge, announced by Garter King of Arms. Except that he wasn’t actually the proper champion. The then head of the Dymoke family was the Reverend John, so for him to perform the duty would have been unthinkable. He had therefore deputed his 20 year old son who didn’t have a horse strong enough to carry him in the full, heavy suit of armour that the occasion demanded. A suitable horse was hired from Astley’s famous circus. Unfortunately it had a repertoire of circus tricks, which it began when the onlookers applauded. Finally, because the hall was so packed with tables, the poor young man was obliged to engage reverse and back out of the royal presence.

Finally, at 8.20, the no doubt full, slightly drunk and exhausted king left the hall and returned to his residence at Carlton House in Pall Mall. This was a sign for the spectators to invade the floor of the hall and help themselves to leftover food and drink. They also started to help themselves to anything that they could lay their hands on, including glasses, trays and silver cutlery. Only determined action by Lord Gwydyr, the Deputy Lord Great Chamberlain, managed to save the precious pieces of the Grand Service that the king and royal guests had used. This was a huge array of 4,000 silver gilt and gold items that the king had created when Prince of Wales. It is still in use today. Only the deployment of armed soldiers prevented the wholesale ransacking of the kitchens. The hall was finally cleared at three the next morning, when guests who had fallen asleep on the floor were finally bundled into their carriages.

Thus it was that the extravaganza was finally over. It was a day of magnificent ceremonial and deep embarrassment for several. The king reigned just nine more years, dying, mostly unloved, at Windsor Castle on 26th June 1830. By then he was so obese that one commentator described him as ‘like a great sausage stuffed into the covering.’ When he died he clasped the hand of his page and murmured, ‘my boy, this is death.’

His legacy is the creation of Buckingham Palace as the principal residence of the sovereign, the rebuilding of Windsor Castle and the accumulation of thousands of items which form the very best of the Royal Collection. Personally he was described by The Times as preferring ‘a bottle and a girl to politics and a sermon,’ and by the first Duke of Wellington as ‘the worst man he ever fell in with his whole life, the most selfish, the most false, the most ill-natured, the most entirely without one redeeming quality.’ What he was undoubtedly too was a great showman, creating a coronation that no one was likely to forget.

C. Michael Montagu 2021